


a liquor never brewed

by vannral



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Accidental Marriage, Clint is oblivious, Drinking, Happy Ending, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-13
Updated: 2015-11-13
Packaged: 2018-05-01 11:17:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5203787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vannral/pseuds/vannral
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: drunk/accidental marriage.</p>
<p>Clint wakes up with a horrible hangover, and realizes a second later that he's married to Pietro Maximoff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a liquor never brewed

**Author's Note:**

> I’m so sorry, I’m so nervous about this, it probably has a lot of plotholes, and alcohol and English/Finnish fails me ;_; Anyway, I hope you enjoy nonetheless? (and if you do read it, thank you very much.)

Clint is  _quite_ certain he’s dying. There’s pain splitting his skull, rattling in his brains, and his mouth’s dry and tastes goddamn  _awful._ Jesus, what the  _hell_ happened last night? (It’s probably Stark’s fault. No, it’s most _definitely_ Stark’s fault. Fucking magic-tequila that can get Steve, Bucky  _and_  Pietro drunk, like that doesn’t spell  _TROUBLE_.) 

He blinks slowly and takes a moment to thank anyone who is up there that the room is  _dark._ Blessedly dark. No lights stabbing his retinas. 

Clint freezes, his heart stops beating. 

He’s suddenly very aware that he’s not alone on the bed. 

_Who?_ he thinks, horrified.  _No way -_

Very slowly, he turns his head and winces as the pain throbs even more violently behind his forehead and squints beside him. 

His jaw drops. 

_No. No way. God hates me. It’s Karma._

It’s Pietro. 

Pietro Maximoff; older of the twins, a sassy bastard, who drives Clint up the  _wall,_ he’s  _lying_ there on his stomach, like he  _belongs there,_ and Clint  _aches_ with something like  _longing._ Pietro’s white hair is a mess, sticking in every direction and his face - 

He looks relaxed, content and handsome -  _dear god, why is he there, he shouldn’t be there, fuck, fuck, oh my GOD -_

_What have I done?_ Horror settles in his gut, like a block of ice, and he feels like he’s  _choking_ on it. Did he take an advantage? Oh my  _God -_

Clint panics and gets out of bed with surprising agility despite the ear-ringing  _agony_ and scrambles for his clothes. He’s still wearing boxers and  _thank god, his flannel pyjama shorts,_ and that’s when Clint sees  _it._

There’s a ring. In his finger. It’s a pretty ring; simple silver design, but still elegant. Clint’s got no problem with _RINGS._ He has a problem, because it’s on his RING FINGER. 

_Oh no. Oh no, no no, this gotta be a prank, a stupid prank by Nat and Stark, and this - breathebreathebreathe -_

Clint dares to glance back at Pietro, and yep. There’s a similar ring on  _his_ finger. Now, Clint is absolutely sure he’s  _dying._ He’s fucked up. He’s fucked up,  _badly._ He got drunk, his feelings for this fucking speedster spilled over, he somehow  _married the guy (who probably doesn’t even know this right now - )_

He feels like the worst scum on this planet. 

     “Stop making so much noise, old man”, a deep, thick voice grumbles from the bed. Pietro lifts his head from the pillow, but unlike Clint, he doesn’t seem to be in any kind of pain. He only looks tired and slightly annoyed. Has he noticed the ring? Does he  _remember?_

Clint can’t breathe, he doesn’t know what to say. “You’re - uh, you’re on my bed.” 

Yeah. Really smooth. What a great way to tell him ‘yeah, Speedy, y’know, we’re married, ‘cause apparently I made a move on you or somethin’.’  

Pietro blinks, then frowns and sits up. “That explains why it is so cramped. And purple. And why the picture of your dog is staring me.” 

Clint chokes; something  _hurts_ in his chest, and he has an irrational urge to giggle hysterically. He has a ring in his finger, Pietro is in his bed, and none of this makes sense except Stark’s fucked up tequila. And that he has - some sort of…less than platonic feelings for Pietro. Yeah. 

Pietro raises an eyebrow. “Cat take your tongue? Why so silent?” 

     “I - I have a ring.” He swallows thickly. Words burn his throat. “A - and you do, too. We - we got married, I guess?” 

Pietro eyes his ring. “It is a very nice design. Very - what’s the word? Sophisticated.” Clint doesn’t know if he’s being a smartass or if he’s mocking Clint, but  _he doesn’t know how to handle this._

     “Yeah, okay.” Clint draws a deep breath. Focus.  _You need to focus._  His headache pounds his temples. “So, uh - how did it…happen?” 

Pietro shoots him a flat, very unimpressed look. “What, you do not even remember your own wedding? Shame on you, old man. Dementia. I will be a widower very soon, and I do not like mourning.” 

Clint  _gapes._ What the hell is  _happening_ here? 

     “So,  _do you_ remember? What happened?” He’s panicking now, full force, horrible pressure on his chest making it hard to breathe. Maybe Pietro notices it, because he gets up, and  _hello, he’s gorgeous - NO. FOCUS._

_“_ You do not remember?” he asks, no,  _demands,_ and his dark gaze locks with Clint’s. His mouth is suddenly even drier than before. 

     “No? Look, Pietro - I’m sorry. Okay? I’m so sorry that I pressured you into this, no way did I mean this to happen. It’s not real, okay, I’m gonna call to - to the office we got married in. Or something. Stark probably knows what it is. So, uh…I’ll fix this, and we don’t have to worry about it anymore.” 

     “ _Worry_ about it?” Pietro repeats, and his accent is even thicker; sharp edges, and something  _very cold. “_ You think I  _worry_ about it?” 

Something in his voice doesn’t seem right, doesn’t fit, and Clint is too scared, too hungover to analyze it. But apparently Pietro gets some kind of a response, because he snarls something in Sokovian and rushes out in a blue-white flutter. Clint is confused, scared  _and_ hungover. 

*

Steve, Bucky, Stark and Bruce are in the kitchen, when Clint finally manages to get there. Steve looks irritatingly fresh and happy; Bruce sips his green tea as he reads news on a tablet, Bucky is wolfing down bacon, and Stark’s making his ‘hangover’-remedy that looks suspiciously green. 

     “Good night?” Steve asks lightly, when Clint slumps on the table, and really, if he wasn’t so tired and worn out and  _torn,_ he would’ve glared the guy. 

     “I’d say it’s a roaring success”, Stark comments by the counter. “Right, Clint?” He turns his head to look at Clint and whistles. “That’s a lovely ring, by the way. Silver, nice choice. Doesn’t always have to be  _gold._ Or dolphins. You’re not a dolphin-kinda guy, are you? No. I thought so.” 

_“_ What, was it  _public_ or somethin’? You didn’t think to  _stop_ me?” Clint snaps, his annoyance, fear bleeding through. 

Silence. 

Finally Bucky says: “Jesus  _Christ.”_

Stark’s eyebrows are somewhere near his hairline. “Uh, no offense, Clint, but uh, you two were really secretive. With rings. And apparently flowers. It  could be actually pretty sweet, straight from rom-coms. Vision updated us later where you two were, though, so that’s nice. Still kinda sour you didn’t invite us. Uh, _rude,_ Barton?”

_They’re joking. Right?_

     “Vision tells us Maximoff seemed pretty happy”, Bruce points out carefully. 

Clint  _gawks. “What?”_

     “So, you weren’t serious…?” Steve asks, and Clint’s choking, he can’t  _breathe, this is really happening, it happened -_

     “I - I just - did I pressure him? Into it? Like, drag him to the altar or somethin’?” 

     “Well, he wasn’t kicking and screaming”, Bruce says. “Plus, I think he might’ve punched you, if you did something he didn’t like.” 

_“No,_ tell me, goddamnit! I - I need to know if I took advantage of him, or - or forced him into this mess!” 

     “You didn’t”, a flat woman’s voice replies behind him, and Clint thinks:  _Oh, fuck._ Wanda’s eyes are not red, but disapproval,  _anger_ rolls off her in piercing waves. “But you are an idiot. A great, thick-headed,  _dense idiot.”_

     “Yeah, I know, you’re absolutely right, which is why I’m tryin’ to fix this!” 

Wanda’s lips curl dangerously. “It does not  _need_ fixing”, she snaps. “It needs you two  _talking_ to each other. He is very upset.” 

     “Yeah, I got it.” 

     “No, you  _don’t!”_ Wanda barks, and Clint’s startled. “You do not know why, you think you do, but you _don’t!_ Pietro is not upset because you two got married! He’s upset that you do not remember!” 

Clint can’t move. He can barely think. “W -  _what?”_

     “Tell  _him._ It’s not so awful as you might think.” 

      “Tell him  _what?”_ Because Wanda promised she’d never use her powers on him, but maybe he’s not being as secretive as he would’ve liked.  Wanda looks so angry, so vicious that he’s suddenly meek under her burning eyes.

     “Go.  _Talk._ To. Him.” 

     “Yes, ma’am.” 

     “Good luck, Barton!” Stark hollers. Yeah, Clint thinks miserably. He probably needs it. 

So, he goes to Pietro’s door, and his stomach is tied into painful knots, and he’s certain he’s going to have a heart attack right there. He’s fucked up, so  _much,_ but…maybe he can somehow salvage this, so that Pietro doesn’t end up fully hating him. Might as well explain a few things to him, then.  _Fuck. You’re gettin’ old, Barton._

After beats of hesitation, he knocks.  _Here it goes._

     “Go away”, a familiar, gruff voice says. 

     “Uh, it’s - it’s me.” 

A pause. “Go eat your unhealthy breakfast, old man.” 

Clint rests his head against the door. “No, we need to talk ‘bout this.” 

He flinches back, when Pietro suddenly wrenches the door open, and the speedster stands there, looking unraveled,  _fierce._ He stares at Clint, his face tight, haughty, but Clint knows him well enough to know how uneasy Pietro is right now, and promptly, Clint feels like a complete bastard. 

Then, Pietro steps aside, and Clint goes into his room. He’s been there before; it’s clean and pretty sparse, but there’s  _him everywhere;_ blue color, sports wear, iPod.

Clint sits down. Pietro stands in front of him, arms crossed. 

     “Well? You wanted to talk?” 

Clint rubs his face. “Yeah. So, uh…I’m sorry. I’m a dick. I didn’t - I - I freaked out, when I saw the rings, and you - there. In my bed.” 

 Pietro snorts. “Yes, I saw that.” 

     “No, you don’t get it. I - freaked out that - that I’d maybe taken advantage of you. Y’know, that when I was drunk, my feelings just got out - and yeah, I know, it’s no reason, no  _excuse,_ nothing can ever make it okay, but - “ 

     “Wait a minute”, Pietro interrupts. “You think  _you_ took advantage? That is not what happened. You told me that you love me.” 

Clint’s heart stops. “Shit”, he moans. 

Pietro’s face closes off. “You did not mean it?” 

     “No, I meant it! That’s the thing!” Clint explodes. “ _I meant it!_ I mean it! I’m so deeply in love with you I don’t even know which way is  _up!_ I love you, I’m  _in_ love with you, I love you, even though you’re a bastard, who takes my coffee mugs, and who calls me old! And - and we got married, and I don’t know remember a thing, and shit is  _fucked up,_ and -  _ummp!”_

Pietro kisses him harshly; their teeth clack together; his big hands pull Clint closer by the back of his neck; Clint can taste despair, such crushing  _yearning_ that he’s not sure if it’s his or Pietro’s, but he kisses back just as desperately, wanting to be close,  _closer,_ to Pietro’s  _heart, his soul -_

     “You are an idiot”, Pietro grunts against Clint’s lips, just a breath away. “I love you. I have - maybe since Sokovia. I do not know. But yesterday, when - you told me, and you - “ Pietro swallows, and his grip on Clint’s neck tightens, ever so slightly. “I wanted to devour you whole.  _Mine,_ I thought. I wanted it to be real, maybe it clouded my judgement.” 

He offers a grim, crooked grin. “Maybe Stark’s drink was part of that, too, I am not sure. But I did not want to wait. Marriage. Right now. That second. I did not - I am sorry, too. It was not fair.”

     “Are you sorry now? ‘Cause I - this whole goddamn mess could’ve just - “ Clint stammers, trails off, embarrassed, and Pietro’s expression softens. 

     “Use your words _,_ old man, or we have another misunderstanding again”, he scolds, but he sounds quite gentle.  

Dizzying relief floods into Clint’s brains. “Okay, so let’s talk straight. Uh, truthfully, whatever. No alcohol this time. So, I love you. If you missed that. I want to be with you, okay? Long-haul, no flings.” He hesitates, feeling vulnerable,  _bare. “_ Are you, uh…okay with that? ‘Cause you’re so young.” 

Pietro rolls his eyes. “You are talking garbage, again. I am not a  _child._ I am twenty- _six_ and  _sober,_ I might add.” He leans down and kisses him again; this time it’s slow, that kind that makes Clint’s heart skip a beat and heat flush into his cheeks, like he’s  _a teenager. “_ I want you.  _You. ‘_ Till the day I die. Or we die. Whichever. I do not care.” 

Clint gapes, and emotions rage inside him; he’s  _so relieved, so grateful, oh my God, it’s real, it’s real -_ So, he yanks Pietro down and kisses him back, hard and enthusiastically, so blissfully  _happy._

After they part, they rest their heads together, and Clint grins. “So, you were ready to marry me, huh?” 

Pietro’s cheeks colour slightly, and he huffs: “I did not want to wait.” 

     “Okay, I get that. I’m sorry that I don’t remember it, though.” 

     “I remember plastic flowers. Was not very romantic.” 

     “So, uh…you wanna do it again?” 

Pietro’s smirk makes Clint’s knees almost  _buckle. “_ You’re on. Perhaps wait, until you can walk, though.” He considers, and his face looks devilish. “I can always carry you.” 

     “ _Why?_ What would that be a thing?”

     “You are my bride”, Pietro teases. 

     “What,  _why_ am I the bride?” Clint complains and pauses. “No, wait a minute. Screw that, I can totally be a bride. Gimme a dress.” Pietro’s gaze darkens, and Clint swallows and asks: “So, uh…do I save some white lace to the wedding night?” 

     “If you want to”, Pietro almost  _growls,_ and  _oh no, Clint is so fucked._

They don’t get married for months, though, since Wanda disapproves such hasty marriages after their fuckup. So, they take it slowly - and yeah, later, when they  _do_ get married, Clint’s totally wearing white lace under his suit.


End file.
